


Golden Days

by artemisgrace



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Codependency, College, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mind Games, More characters to be added, Strangers to Friends, There will be murder, Unhealthy Relationships, University
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 19:44:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemisgrace/pseuds/artemisgrace
Summary: Will and Hannibal meet as roommates during their freshman year at university. Neither of them have ever felt so connected to another person before, though whether it will bring them ill or leave them well is yet to be seen.





	Golden Days

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @spiserbrod on Twitter, who won my fic giveaway. It grew out of proportion, so it's gonna be a few chapters, but I thought I'd at least post the first one to tide you over. I hope you like it!

If this building isn’t haunted, Will will be seriously disappointed. 

The overcast sky paints the scenery -if it can indeed be called that- with subdued greys, rendering the red brick of the building that looms before Will rather more the hue of dried blood, a muted facsimile of the warm life that might otherwise have been visible. Looking about, the comparison seems quite reasonable really; the official move in date isn’t until tomorrow, and campus is still largely deserted, taking on the lonely feeling that most abandoned places seem to have, as though the place itself is aware of having been forgotten. 

It would be a good home to spectres, he considers, should they be looking for one.

But perhaps he thinks so only because this place has never been home to him. It will be though, as of this evening, and he has to admit to a slight trembling of his hands as he shifts his suitcase, both at the thought of spending tonight in a mostly empty, unfamiliar building, and at the thought of having to share a room with some as-yet unknown stranger. Not for his own discomfort, though that is certainly a part of it, but more for fear of his future roommate’s discomfort; Will is aware of how he’s wont to come across, particularly to those who’ve had no forewarning. He can be . . . disconcerting, to the unprepared.

College seems to be the perfect setting for a reinvention of sorts, but after more than one entirely failed attempt at reinvention in his life, Will has learned that such things are mostly likely out of his grasp. The surface can be buffed to smoothness, but time always reveals the cracks and patches, regardless of how much effort was spent trying to hide them. Best to be honest, even if said honesty is off-putting. 

Summoning either the courage or the enthusiasm to step forward, Will grips the handle of his suitcase with whitened knuckles and enters the building, remarking upon the dead ivy that creeps up the sides of the door frame as he passes through the entrance to the building, “Kamola Hall,” as the sign above the ivy had announced. The outer walls are brick on the inside as well, but the inner walls, while likely brick on the interior, are covered in plywood painted a now rather dingy white, not dissimilar to the shade of the clouds outside. 

He follows hand-written signs, ink and construction paper in an unfortunate hue of orange leading him to the dorm office, in which a very tired man a year or two older than himself sits slumped over the counter, chin in his hand. Will can feel the mixture of irritation and relief that the man sends his way as he approaches to relieve the man’s boredom.

“Will Graham?” the man asks flatly, grabbing a clipboard from the counter’s surface and taking hold of a yellow highlighter that’s attached to the clipboard with a piece of what looks like purple yarn.

“Uh, yeah,” Will responds automatically before internally congratulating himself, sarcastically, for his eloquence.

Eloquence, however, seems to be neither anticipated nor actually wanted, and the man uncaps the highlighter, dragging the marker tip across the page, where Will’s name is printed, as he sees when the clipboard is tipped to face him.

“Sign here.”

“Uh,” Will fumbles at his pockets, although he knows full well that he has neither pen nor pencil on his person, as all such things are tucked away in his suitcase, somewhere amongst clothes and toiletries.

The man sighs and reaches underneath the counter, coming up with a plastic ballpoint pen, which he hands over, watching Will write out his somewhat uncertain signature.

“I’m Jack, I’m going to be your RA,” the man tells him as he waves for Will to follow down a hallway, and Will, for his own part, resists the urge to point out that some sort of name tag might be helpful, “You’re going to be in room 203. It’s a two person room, so you’ll have to take whichever bed is left.”

“My roommate is already here?” Will asks, surprised, as a set of keys is unceremoniously shoved into his palm.

“You and your roomie were the only people registered to move in today, so after I get you settled, I’m gonna go back to mine,” the RA, Jack, replies, revealing the reason for his irritation and his relief at Will’s appearance: Jack had been sitting there waiting all afternoon specifically for Will.

“Sorry to keep you,” Will apologizes, more out of the feeling that it’s expected than true sincerity.

“It’s whatever,” Jack answers, but it honestly isn’t much of an answer, more a dismissal, “Here’s your room. Bathroom’s at the end of the hall and to the left.”

He gestures loosely to the end of the hall, and Will turns to look before the door abruptly opens to reveal his roommate, knocking having apparently been unnecessary. That or the guy just got tired of waiting for a knock to come.

“Oh, here he is,” Jack says, covering what Will is almost certain is surprise, “Will, you’re gonna be sharing this year with . . . uh-”

“Hannibal,” the roommate answers smoothly at Jack’s evident grasping for an unfamiliar name, voice soft and lilting, but not necessarily what Will would describe as friendly.

“Right, this is Hannibal,” Jack introduces them, “And Hannibal, this is Will. Can I trust you two to get settled by yourselves? My show is in five.”

“Of course,” the syllables flow smoothly from Hannibal’s lips, and Will has to shake off either a shudder or a shiver as Jack makes a quick departure and Hannibal turns his eyes to rest fully upon Will.

He’s taller than Will, though not by much, long-limbed and possessing of an elegance that immediately leaves Will intensely aware of his own slouched posture and ruffled hair. Hannibal, Will can see, isn’t the type of person to ever have ruffled hair, not while he’s conscious, though whether it’s by personal preference or to keep up appearances, Will needs a little longer to determine. Either way, the rest of the other student’s appearance follows suit, shoulders back, head held high, neat trousers, and a button up, over which a blazer hung, also impeccable. Oddly impeccable for someone planning to spend an evening in.

“Going out tonight?” Will asks, immediately kicking himself for the question as the sounds leave his mouth, but there’s little to be done once his nosy impulse has escaped into words.

“I wasn’t planning to,” Hannibal answers smoothly, stepping aside to indicate that Will should enter, “I’ve taken the bed on the left, I do hope you don’t mind.”

Wording. “I hope” rings straightforward and sincere, but “I do hope” smacks of whatever the opposite of an invitation to debate would be. “I do hope” tells Will that the decision has been made and that argument is unwelcome. Luckily, Will genuinely doesn’t mind; a bed is a bed, whether it be on the left or the right, and whatever tiny, fatalistic part of his mind that whispers to rise to the bait is easily kept down and quieted. 

“I don’t mind at all,” Will replies, letting a similar sharpness enter his voice to reflect Hannibal’s.

Hannibal dares him to disagree, and Will happily agrees, thwarting him. One skirmish down, but Will suspects this will be a theme . . .

He makes his way over to the bed, surveying what is now his territory as he feels the gentle pressure of Hannibal’s watchful eyes. Still trying to find his measure. 

The bed comes with a frame and a mattress but nothing else, and next to it stands a desk on one side and a dresser on the other, though Will can tell from a glance that the dresser is far larger than he needs with his lone suitcase of belongings. He sets about establishing himself in the room, opening his suitcase and removing his things, making his bed and putting his clothes neatly into the dresser, all too aware of Hannibal quietly observing from the other side of the room. What could be so fascinating about Will putting his socks into a drawer, Will doesn’t know, but neither is he about to ask. All too soon, though, a new point of awkwardness arises: what to do now that his things are all stowed away. He sits somewhat uncomfortably on his newly made bed and looks over to Hannibal doing much the same thing, and as Hannibal had observed Will’s side of the room, Will now takes a moment to observe his. 

It’s tidy, of course it is, but Will is slightly surprised by the organization of it. The multitude of books that have taken up residence on the top of Hannibal’s dresser and upon his desk seem to be organized not by author or by subject, at least not as far as Will can tell: they’re ordered instead according to language. English, French, Italian, German, Japanese, and a language that Will doesn’t recognize. Something Eastern European perhaps? 

Some people might have books in language that they don’t speak in order to impress, but Hannibal is not one of those people. Not only can he read the books in their various languages, but Will imagines that Hannibal has already read most of them. These are here because they are some of his favorites. 

Most dorm rooms, Will imagines, are rather spartan, at least at the beginning of the year, much as his own side of the room is, but Hannibal’s side is quite the opposite. The school-supplied wooden chair has been given cushions, both for the seat and the back. The standard white school curtains have been replaced by thicker, more substantial drapes, of the sort that Will would sooner expect to see in a interior decorating catalog than in an eighteen year old’s dorm room. Hannibal’s bedding and pillows follow suit, all of it coordinated in warm wine reds and maroons. Maroon like his eyes, Will observes, which don’t dart to see where Will is looking, but stay fixed upon his face, as though trying to suss something out.

This kid has the tastes of a middle-aged rich guy . . . And Will hates the way that he kind of likes that. Once the initial shock is passed and Will can look at lt properly, the way that Hannibal looks at it, he finds himself altogether pleased by the decor, and more than a little disappointed at how his own side of the room kind of spoils the effect, all his things coming in the drab shades of grey and blue that all things eventually turn after years of being washed together without sorting in boiling hot water. 

Thank god Will wasn’t inclined to try to put up a nudie poster like some other guys his age are wont to do. He wouldn’t anyway, it’s never really been his thing, but he still gets the distinct impression that to put one up would be a step too far in Hannibal’s books, and something tells hims that Hannibal’s bad side is a place he really doesn’t want to be.

Once out of inanimate objects to regard, Will’s eyes have nowhere left to go but to his odd new roommate, and Hannibal’s eyes, it would appear, have nowhere to go but to Will. He keeps trying to make eye contact and Will keeps trying to avoid it, and the whole affair is only growing more and more uncomfortable as the efforts continue, so Will resorts to what is frankly a pretty lame conversation opener. 

“So, uh, have you eaten?” he asks, his own stomach having begun to remind him of how long ago breakfast was now that the day began to wane into evening.

“Not recently,” Hannibal’s eyes crinkle at the corners, as if he were smiling, although his mouth remains largely neutral.

“I was thinking of checking out the dining options in the cafeteria,” Wills hesitates before adding, “Would you like to come along?”

“I’ll happily come with you, but I must confess that the thought of university cafeteria food gives me pause,” Hannibal answers, the smile reaching his lips, even as it is somewhat strained.

“I can’t blame you,” Will grins at his roommate, frankly thrilled to have found a comfortably neutral, but reasonably pleasant topic that Hannibal is willing to engage him on, “but there’s always the hope that they’ll have something worth eating, right?”

“Let’s not set our hopes too high. Shall we?” Hannibal proposes, standing and gesturing for Will to follow as he heads for the door. 

Will does follow, but it occurs to him that he’s been blindly following people rather a lot today, and that it’s something he’d best not make a habit of. They walk to the student union building in relative silence, preoccupied with observing the grounds of what would, for the next nine months or thereabouts, be their home. 

An early autumn would appear to have hit campus like a truck. It’s only September, and yet not a leaf is to be seen on the branches of trees, all of them already fallen to ground, cluttering the footpaths and rendering the concrete more than a little slick, forcing Will to pay more attention to his steps than he usually would. Hannibal, for his own part, picks his way towards the student union building like a prowling jaguar, steps precise and almost fluid, looking somehow both perfectly at ease and drastically out of place. 

All the buildings seem to have a similar muted, dulled palate to their dorm, all colors faded beneath the waning light of a clouded sky that hovers like a blanket of wool draped over the world. The exception is a great edifice that, Will can only assume, was designed after a mixture between a soviet Russian apartment building and a sci fi villain’s lair, all grey concrete, darkened windows, and sharp corners. This is architecture as intimidation, and the irony that the sign proclaims this to be the psychology building is not lost on either Will or Hannibal, who share a chuckle at this monstrosity of a school building. 

“Do you think they knew what they were doing when they built that?” Will suppresses a laugh as he speaks, with limited success.

“It would depend on whether it was destined to be the psychology building when it was built or not.”

“What would that meeting have been like? ‘I have an idea for the psychology building, how about we make it look like an evil wizard lives there?’ It’s either a bad joke or a really excellent one.”

“It would almost be funnier were it built for some other purpose and the psychology department later moved in.”

“You’re right, I mean, what other department could they have designed that thing for?” Will asks, both to Hannibal and to the world at large. 

“It smacks somewhat of a prison as well . . . so perhaps the law department?” Hannibal suggests, and Will can’t help but laugh outright, both out of amusement at the suggestion, and out of relief at being able to laugh with Hannibal.

If they can laugh at this, then perhaps they might even -god forbid- become genuinely friendly . . .


End file.
